"You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. Drawing his hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised Blueskin. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.
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